


Tell Me a Scary Story

by Neyiea



Series: Equivalency [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reading Aloud, Stephen King's IT References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 04:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: It's difficult to have a proper date in No Man's Land, but they make do in their own way.





	Tell Me a Scary Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariadnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadnes/gifts).

> Wanted to write something not-too plot heavy before I eventually get around to the next part.

The rough sound of a window sliding on its track forces Bruce’s eyes open and he leaps out of the seated position he’d taken on the floor for his meditation, whirling around and quickly moving into a defensive position.

It’s not Ecco or Jeremiah sneaking into his and Alfred’s apartment from the fire escape as night falls over the city. Bruce would breathe a sigh of relief, but really, Jonathan should know better than to sneak around like this by now. If it had been Alfred in the room he would have attacked first and asked questions later, and he might not have even felt too bad about it.

Alfred was, understandably, a little bit wary about Jonathan, though he’d quietly taken Bruce aside at one point and assured him that he was content as long as Bruce was happy, and that he was willing to give someone who had helped with putting Jeremiah Valeska behind bars at least one chance.

Bruce wonders if more people would be willing to give Jonathan a chance, too, if they knew about that. Or if they knew that he was one half of the reason why Jervis Tetch was now also locked away in the most soundproofed cell that Lucius could rig up on short notice. 

Though that would require telling certain people about their continued partnership, and Bruce is sure that anyone who wasn’t already in the know was not ready for that sort of information. 

One of the people in the know certainly didn’t deserve to carry such a personal secret with them—didn’t deserve to know even more about Bruce than what he’d dug up and studied and obsessed over—but Jonathan’s actions after finding Bruce in Crime Alley had made concealing it from Jeremiah an impossibility.

It was a small mercy that Jeremiah had already proven himself to be a skillful liar with an obvious, hair-raising fixation even before he’d blown up the bridges. Even if he told someone that Bruce and Jonathan were on better terms than anyone could ever guess it was highly unlikely that they would believe him. 

Bruce shifts out of his defensive stance as Jonathan finishes stepping inside, hauling something in behind him.

“Are you ever going to learn to knock?”

He means for his tone to be completely serious, but he somehow can’t keep a sliver of amusement from slipping in. Jonathan was, at times, even more socially graceless than Bruce himself could be, and his barging in is reminiscent of Selina in their younger, happier days. 

“Oh. Sorry,” Jonathan says, actually looking somewhat repentant as he closes the window behind him. “I suppose I’m used to going wherever I want. Speaking of—” He lifts up a backpack slowly, as if the weight of whatever’s inside is almost too much for him to hold with only one hand. “—I really hit the jackpot tonight.”

He sets the backpack down on the floor and before Bruce can ask him what’s in the bag he’s striding forward, arms reaching out, hands coming to rest on either side of Bruce’s face. Their foreheads brush together and Bruce’s eyes fall shut.

“I missed you,” Jonathan says.

Bruce feels a smile tug at his lips, and he lays his hands over Jonathan’s.

“You were with me for two hours last night.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t miss you during the day.” Jonathan ducks in to press a quick kiss with Bruce’s mouth, murmuring, “don’t you miss me when I’m gone?” against his lips.

“Yes.”

But it’s not safe for Jonathan to be in the Green Zone in the daylight.

They really do seem more like star-crossed lovers than ever.

“Good,” Jonathan rumbles before sliding his lips over Bruce’s slowly. His fingertips trace gentle patterns on Bruce’s cheeks as they gradually drag down his face, over his shoulders, down his arms. When Jonathan gets to his hands he twines their fingers together, and Bruce holds back just as tightly.

When Jonathan pulls back he looks at Bruce with a familiar softness in his gaze, which never fails to make Bruce’s heart sputter like a wild fire in his chest. When Jonathan tugs on his hands and starts walking backwards Bruce follows, and soon Jonathan is crouching down to open up the backpack that he’d brought with him. He pulls the zipper open and Bruce curiously peers inside before Jonathan has the chance to take anything out.

What he sees has him cocking his head to the side, bemused. 

“You brought me novels?”

“I brought you novels,” Jonathan agrees with an easy smile. “Some of them are ones that I haven’t read yet.” He takes out several and sets them into Bruce’s waiting hands. “But I figured with this author there’s not a lot of room to go wrong.”

Faded paperbacks with cracked spines and dog-eared pages, obviously well loved, though not exactly the kind of reading material that Bruce would seek out for himself. He reads the titles steadily; The Running Man, The Long Walk, Pet Semetary, It…

“Is this meant to be homework?”

He’s not familiar with all of the titles, but he knows that at least a few are meant to be scary. Did Jonathan think that reading books like these would help him to become as he was meant to be?

Jonathan lets out a soft, startled laugh.

“What? No, it’s not homework.” He chuckles and takes out a few more books. “You’ve got your own way of doing things, and having seen it first-hand I must say that it’s...” He drifts off, eyes darkening for a few moments, and he licks his lips in a way that makes Bruce feel a little warmer. “Effective,” he finally finishes, although it sounds as if he’d like to describe it as more than just that. Bruce probably shouldn’t be surprised.

He was, believe it or not, catching on to how much Jonathan liked watching him work, and how much he loved working _with_ him. 

“I just thought, since we’re not exactly in a position to ‘waste electricity’ by putting on a movie, that I could read to you.”

“Oh.”

That’s… Sweet. It’s been years since anyone’s read anything to him that wasn’t instructional in nature.

“Is there one that you would recommend?”

“I picked out some of his most popular works. Glance them over and choose something that you think sounds interesting.”

Bruce settles down on the worn couch and Jonathan follows after him, sitting close enough that their thighs press firmly together. It’s nice; the unceremonious affection, the routine closeness. He reads over the backs of the books, and Jonathan patiently sits beside him, and Bruce could almost believe that they were normal young men in a normal relationship spending time together, even though every other night Jonathan takes him into the Dark Zone for a few hours so that Bruce has an opportunity to keep track of what’s going on in the shadows. 

In only a week someone from the mainland will be coming over to see for themselves that everything in Gotham has finally settled. Preparations are already underway and the remnants of the GCPD are all working tirelessly to ensure that nothing will happen to push the date back.

And that no one will break out of—or be broken out of—their cells.

Bruce isn’t keen on letting that happen either so he does what he can, and he stays on alert for any signs of anyone making plans to infiltrate the Green Zone in order to raise enough chaos to keep Gotham isolated. It makes him feel on edge, but he knows better than to just sit back and hope for the best.

That never worked out well for anyone in Gotham.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Jonathan says, near enough that Bruce can feel his breath against his neck. Bruce had been too caught up in his thoughts to notice him getting closer. 

“I’ve been feeling restless lately,” he admits, because there’s no point in trying to hide anything from Jonathan. He was already able to read Bruce like they’d known each other for far longer than they actually had.

Such a skill would have made him a terrible foe to have. It’s a good thing that Jonathan’s intentions towards Bruce had shifted into something sweeter than they had been at their first meeting, instead of something more sinister. 

“I know,” Jonathan tells him. “You’ve been going out on patrol by yourself before dark.”

_That_ catches Bruce by surprise. He shifts to look over at Jonathan, eyes taking in his knowing smirk.

“How did you know?”

There’s no use denying it, especially not when his reaction would have only given him away even if Jonathan hadn’t been sure.

“Bruce, _baby_,” Jonathan drawls lowly, “as if you could hide that sort of thing from me. Invite me along next time, I don’t want you getting caught up in something by yourself.” He stretches an arm across the back of the couch, hooking it over Bruce’s shoulders, and he presses even closer to him. “However formidable you are alone it’s better to have some there to watch your back, right?”

It’s almost difficult to focus on his sensible words when he’s close enough that Bruce can feel his breath against his mouth. He’s probably doing it on purpose.

“You have a point,” Bruce admits, and Jonathan leans even further into his space.

“Of course I do.”

Jonathan makes no further move to close the remaining distance between them.

Bruce does it instead. 

As tempting as it is to go a little further—here where it’s safe and sheltered and warm, where Bruce could slip his hands up the back of Jonathan’s shirt and Jonathan could press him against the arm of the couch—Alfred really could come home at any time, and Bruce doesn’t think any one of them is ready for Alfred to see more than the innocent hand holding and fleeting kisses that were the most intimate actions that Jonathan and Bruce ever carried out when he happened to be around. 

The desire for more is there, though. Bruce can feel the potential for it shifting hotly under his skin, can sense it in the way Jonathan eagerly leaves as little space as possible between them. Pulling apart without giving in to the need to do more than the last time is starting to become difficult, but Bruce manages.

Jonathan does too, though he presses fervent kisses to Bruce’s forehead and cheeks as if he needs that little bit extra before he can really pull himself together. 

It makes Bruce feel somewhat weak in the knees, to be honest.

Jonathan presses his lips to the skin below Bruce’s ear before he sways back, eyes heavy lidded and a content sort of smile on his face. He looks so nice like this—settled and peaceful—that Bruce has to resist the urge to lean in and kiss him again.

He turns his gaze back to the books instead, though his attention is still mostly focused on the young man who’s serenely watching him.

“Did you pick one?”

“Yes.” Bruce hands over the thickest book, and as Jonathan takes it from him their fingers brush.

“This is over a thousand pages, it’ll take a long time to finish,” Jonathan says lowly, like he’s also thinking about the uncertain time that they have left before…

Before the process of reunification is finally complete, and Gotham isn’t isolated from the rest of the world, and Arkham Asylum’s doors are opened up all over again. 

“We’ll finish it,” Bruce tells him. “I’ll make sure that we do.”

Even if it means, when all is said and done, that Bruce will have to settle for being read to during monitored visitor hours. Because even when reunification happens, even when Jonathan’s actions as the Scarecrow come to haunt and separate them, he doesn’t think he can give this up. He doesn’t think he can give Jonathan up.

Bruce wonders if that makes him foolish.

He’s not entirely certain that he cares.

“Well.” Jonathan sets the book aside for a moment so that he can lean down and take hold of Bruce’s calves. Bruce lifts with him, pivoting so that his back is against the arm of the couch, and he settles his legs in Jonathan’s lap. “As long as we’re not starting something that we won’t be able to finish.”

“We’re not,” Bruce tells him bluntly.

Jonathan looks at him, gaze intense and cutting in the way it normally gets when he’s trying to pick apart someone’s words and actions to find the true meaning underneath. Whatever it is he sees in Bruce’s face—Bruce’s obstinate resolve, most likely—makes him go soft around the edges again. 

“Good,” he says in a fond sort of tone as he takes the book back into his hands, flipping open the first few pages. “I’d hate to only make it halfway through with you.”

“I’d hate that, too.” Bruce stretches out his legs, and one of Jonathan’s hands comes to rest on his knee. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

Jonathan flashes him a smile as he rubs a soothing circle over Bruce’s knee, and then his gaze turns to the open pages of the book. 

“The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years—if it ever did end—began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain…”

**Author's Note:**

> As you may have guessed the final line of this work is a direct quote from Stephen King's 'It'.


End file.
